Turn It Off
by CorruptedBarbie
Summary: How I interpreted and felt 4x15. Elena's POV. (Sucky summary but give it a read anyways.) One-shot with potential for a second chapter if interest is expressed.


Author's Note: This episode touched me immensely, and I was compelled to write it exactly as I felt it... It's nothing all-too original, and I most definitely don't own the plot/storyline here. If anyone is interested in my /follow-up/ piece to this, please leave a review and I shall seek it out. It contains more of my own ideas and personalized writing.

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Leaning against the cool, concrete wall, mocha hues linger on random pebbles, leaves, and whatever else happens to litter the ground of the 'stoner pit'; the soft pads of my fingertips lightly brushing atop the rough cement, tracing the outline of the faded graffiti art as /more/ memories of my brother threaten to play out in my mind.

Attempting to keep my attention focused on Matt rather than let my throughts stray any further, my voice clearly reflects my growing skepticism, "Is that really what you believe? If I compelled you to tell me the truth, is that what you would say?"

I wanted to believe his statement... Matt is the first person who's not treated me as if I were clinically insane today; instead of looking at me with pity, disbelief lacing his words, casting wayward glances every few seconds as if I were about to break into a million pieces at any given moment... He's hugged me, offered reassurance wherever he could and distraction where he couldn't, he's **listened** to the seemingly irrational explanations behind my remaining hope, and provided a friendly sense of normalcy.

So I wouldn't actually compel him, but I know now that he wouldn't lie, "I would tell you that it's okay to have hope... because sometimes that's all that keeps me going."

The gentle sincerity of his words permits a rush of optimism to wash over my body. If anyone could relate to me in this situation, it was Matt; he'd lost almost everyone that matters to him for various reasons... he'd coped with losing his sister, his only sibling, only remaining relative, on more than one occurence.

The intrusive interruption of my cell phone heightens my awareness once more, another surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I'm informed of Bonnie's recovery and journey home. "Listen, Elena... you might've been right. There might be /something/." Stefan's voice carries a hint of doubt that I easily disregard in exchange for the overwhelming hope that accompanies his words.

The prospect of the Gilbert ring reuniting my brother and I was bleak; I'd known that since I'd cradled his lifeless form in my lap in the cave we'd found him in, but with Bonnie and Silas both nowhere to be found, I'd had to cling to the first flicker of hope I could grasp. The hunter's mark was no longer visible upon his paled skin, offering the faint possibility that his supernatural destiny was fulfilled, returning him to his simple, human state... but as minutes faded into hours, as every person in my company displayed their opposition to this theory, that solitary hope became increasingly difficult to hold on to.

Despite the complete comprehension of every potential aspect, I'd avidly refuted being in denial because it was easier than being faced with the alternative, "There is absolutely** no** way my brother is dead." This phrase seems to echo loudly within my head for the remainder of the day; a nagging reminder that my theory might be disproved before another viable solution could present itself.

Meredith's 'medical opinion' and scientific breakdown of what to expect nearly sent me over the edge; her illustrated description of a decomposing corpse, the hopelessness and greatly saddened compassion ringing through her words, the manner in which she had addressed my helpless baby brother as 'the body', the finality of her professional assessment created the first fissures in my mask of denial.

Forcing the fragile human against the wall with supernatural speed and strength, emotions teetering on the brink of my control, "There is no** science** here... it's just... magic. We need **magic**!" Desparate for another approach to adhere to, I fall victim to the whirlwind of hypnotic anxiety, screaming, **"SOMEBODY JUST GET ME BONNIE!"**

A familiar voice breaks my trance by cutting through the suffocating haze of hysteria; Matt's panicked features meeting mine before quickly contorting to devastation upon sight of Jeremy's too-still form laying rigid atop his mattress.

His presence alone offered a source of stability; immediately abandoning all other thought, my arms are around him in a protective embrace, attempting to envelope him in a field of reassurance. "No, no, Matt. It's fine. It's okay. Bonnie will be here soon and she'll fix everything and it'll all be fine. Everything's gonna be fine." My voice drops to a hushed whisper, quietly repeating, "It'll be fine..." until we regain a grip over our composure.

With every last hope, wish, and prayer invested in our personal scorceress, her arrival is highly anticipated; the brief report from Stefan only optimizing a renewed sense of enthusiasm.

With everyone already prepared and gathered around the dining room table, I focus my attention completely on Bonnie, conscientist, coffee-tinted hues analyzing each and every imperceptable moment. After hearing the proposed course of action, my gaze fixates on nothing in particular, allowing the definition of my surroundings to blur together, my features indicating the confliction threatening to overpower my senses. "...invite every monster who has ever died..." "...the other side doesn't exist anymore..." "...killing twelve people!" "...Jeremy... Alaric... Vicki..."

Their voices meld into one another, becoming one continuous string of obnoxiously loud noise; my thoughts erratic and emotions haywire, I slip into a haze of overwhelming bewilderment.

The untimely annoyance of the phone brings everyone to an abrupt silence; the intrusion returning me to my painful reality long enough to accept the call, "Jeremy can't come to the phone right now; he's not..." my instinctive reply trails off, acceptance of the ways things are finally beginning to break through the protective walls of my deepest denial. Bonnie was speaking insanities; it would be a deadly mistake to 'drop the veil', placing the entire population in peril. As much as I want to do **whatever** it takes to save my only remaining relative, I know the risk and consequences are too great to sustain. "I'm sorry... he's dead," my voice provides no reflection of my internal struggle, the fear that all is lost only showing as the phone falls from my hands and I flee up the staircase to my brother's bedroom.

With fearful hesitation, I lower the blanket from his head with terrified, shaking hands, dropping the cover with agonizing shock as the blue-ish pigment of his skin is revealed. Unable to breathe sufficiently as realization crashes through my frame with such force, each ineffective gasp for breath also a raw, piercing cry of grief.

"He's dead. He's dead! Damon, he's dead and he's been dead this whole time and I..." His presence, anyone's presence, fails to offer any sort of comfort as the true tragedy dominates my heart, possesses my thoughts, and commands my actions.

My baby brother... dead... because of **me**. Everyone I've ever loved has **died** because of me. Every. Last. One. I never wanted any of this... I didn't ask for it... I would've **gladly** taken the place of any one of them, but instead, I'm left here... broken... completely and utterly alone.

All that remains are the memories etched into the panels of this house, the torturous reminders at every given turn, the stinging nostalgia of every room, every photo, every taunting remembrance. The sheer thought of awakening to these painful reminders every single morning, trying to find peace among total loss and devastation every night for the rest of eternity is too daunting to endure.

After giving orders to lay Jeremy on the living room sofa, frantic fingers wretch open cupboard after cupboard until they retreive the bottle of fluid, drenching the countertop and every item within reach with the flammable solvent, despite the horrified stares of onlookers.

"There's nothing here for me anymore."

Stefan, Damon, and Caroline attempt with evident dismay to end my intent decision for destruction, frozen in place as I strike the match, "Every inch of this house is filled with memories of people I love that have died... my mom, my dad... Jeremy and Jenna... John. Even **John**! They're all dead. Everyone is dead!"

Frantic, hysterical, panicked words linger in the air, the heat of the receding flame going unnoticed until it burns my flesh, injured fingers instinctively releasing the offending item. Damon reacts instantly, immediately springing forward to extinguish its life before it hits the floor. His eyes find mine, cyan hues pained with depthless sadness, his tone gentle as he requests, "Elena, I need you to calm down."

One arm wraps around my abdomen, shielding myself from the omnipotent emptiness I feel inside, as I drop helplessly to my knees, visibly crumbling as the staggering darkness crawls to my farthest extremeties, consuming me entirely, "I can't... I can't... I can't... It hurts... It hurts! Make it stop... Please, make it stop. It hurts..."

Catastrophic sobs shake my fragile figure, irrepressible tears leaving trail after trail of wetness as they stream down distraught features, swept away in the powerful current, waves of melancholy pulling me beneath the surface into a deep, drowning depression. Enveloped in an all-consuming darkness, I offer no resistance as Damon draws me into a ineffective soothing embrace, the softness of his voice barely registering as he demands, "You're going to let me help you..."

Cocoa colored pools of despondency raise to his, plagued with uncertainty as he answers my silent question, "Turn it off."

Distrust dances across glistening optics, his solution resulting in my immediate hesitation. "Just turn it off... everything will go away..." Damon's promise of relief alleviates minimal doubt, past experiences offering but waning faith. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear before his soft touch nudges my chin upwards, bringing my gaze to his once again, "It's what I want you to do. Turn it off."

The certainty of his whispered command is irrefutable; the connection of the sire bond subjecting my consciousness to an intruding sensation of trust and devotion. Losing the motivation to persist in my endless battle of will, it dawns on me that I no longer /want/ to fight it... The sire bond ensures that my actions are meant to please Damon, but I no longer desire to feel this... I don't want to **feel** anything...

Within seconds, a calming stillness seeps through my pores, the pitiful sobs silenced immediately, the constant flow of tears brought to a swift demise as I wordlessly decide that I **won't**. I **won't** feel it... the pain... the heartache... the depression... **none** of it... not anymore.

With indescribable suddenness, the weight is lifted from my shoulders, the heaviness of this situation dissipating instantly. A hollow, dead, unfeeling gaze emanates from haunted hues, rendering zero inflection; while still acknowledging the presence of what I would, or **should**, be feeling, I'm simply don't.

It's that easy. It's **that** effortless to not care... about anything... about anyone...


End file.
